


The Legend of Grignr (Eye of Argon Redux)

by RussellEppLeppel



Category: Eye of Argon - Jim Theis
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 19:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18745777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussellEppLeppel/pseuds/RussellEppLeppel
Summary: It's still the infamous Eye of Argon, but just... cleaned up a little.





	1. Road Rage

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Eye of Argon](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/479752) by Jim Theis. 



> This is basically just a self-indulgent exercise in turd polishing. I maintain that the Eye of Argon is actually a pretty good story; it's just being smothered under a mountain of unnecessary adjectives, misspellings, horrendous punctuation, and strange character choices. I decided to try my hand at cleaning it up. I didn't change the plot or any of the names, and I tired to leave as much of the original dialogue as I could. It's mostly the narration that I reworked. That being said, there was only so much effort I was willing to spend on this silliness, so it is what it is.

Hoofprints in the sand followed a weathered trail, winding through the barren wastes of the Noregolian Empire. The midday sun shone brightly overhead, and small rodents scampered about the dry earth as blinding clouds of dust rose around three galloping horses and their riders. A pair of Simarian mercenaries closed upon Grignr of Ecordia, the fugitive they were pursuing. 

“Prepare to meet your creator, barbarian!” Shouted one of the riders.

“Only after you have tasted death yourself, wretch!” Returned Grignr, thrusting forth his right arm and plunging his flashing steel blade to the hilt in the man’s gut. 

The impaled rider slumped and fell from his saddle as his escaping blood poured to the parched ground. Excited by the thrill of combat, Grignr spun to face the fallen soldier’s attacking comrade, his long, fiery red hair blowing in the hot wind.

“Damn you barbarian!” Cried the attacker upon seeing his companion slain before him. 

He drove his gleaming scimitar hard against Grignr’s spiked helm, and a heavy grey fog filled the Ecordian’s mind. The barbarian shook this pounding from his head and swung his bloodied broadsword into the side of his attacker, but the blow was thwarted by a crudely forged hauberk. The mercenary’s horse whinnied as he drove it back from the barbarian’s swinging blade, and Grignr spurred his own mount forward as he bellowed the piercing battle cry of his people. A sweeping scimitar bounced harmlessly off his shield as his right arm swung upwards, sending a foot of steel slicing through the Simarian’s unarmoured neck. A choking gurgle escaped the man’s mouth as he too tumbled from his mount and writhed in the sand. Grignr looked upon the dying man and spoke in a mocking tone.

“You city dogs should have known not to antagonize your better!”

Reining his weary mount ahead, Grignr resumed his journey to the Noregolian city of Gorzom, hoping to find there wine, women, and adventure to stir his wild blood. This trek was forced upon him as he fled the Simarian city of Crin, where his scandalous activities caused much havoc and uproar among its refined patricians, leading them to place a mighty bounty upon his head. A faithless concubine he had wooed tipped off the soldiers of Crin, and a squad descended upon him in an inn where he had been imbibing. After wounding their leader and maiming another officer's arm, Grignr barely managed to escape through the rear exit. Retreating to his mount, he began his flight towards Gorzom, rumoured to contain hoards of plunder and many young wenches for any man bold enough to pursue them.


	2. One Night in Gorzom

Arriving after dusk, Grignr headed down a dark alley and halted his horse before a worn down tavern. Upon entering, he found the establishment was dimly lit by smoldering torches whose heavy fumes choked the air reeking of cheap wine and other of foul odors. Drunken thieves and cutthroats clustered around tables tossing dice and soliciting prostitutes. Seeing a slender woman seated alone on a nearby bench, Grignr approached her wishing to occupy his time. The flickering torches sent rays of light and shadow dancing over this scantily clad lady of the evening, and her flowing hair swayed gracefully as she raised a half-drained mug to her pink lips. Glancing up, the she couldn’t fail to notice the approaching stalwart giant. A faint glimmer sparkled in her deep blue eyes, and she motioned to Grignr, inviting him to join her. He seated himself beside her and showed off his body, wearing only a loincloth, iron helm, and thick leather sandals.

"Are you looking to occupy your time, barbarian?" Questioned the woman.

"Only if something worth my time is within reach." Replied Grignr. He reached out to embrace the tempting woman, and she welcomed his arms with open wantonness.

"From where do you come barbarian, and by what are you called?" She asked.

Grignr ignored her queries and instead pulled her closer, smothering her lips with his own. She gave in to his grasp and wrapped her arms around the bronze hide of his shoulders as his calloused hands caressed her firm breasts.

"You make love well." Grignr said as he reached for the cup of potent wine his companion had been drinking.

Just then a lashing foot kicked the mug of which Grignr had taken hold and sent its blood red contents sloshing overhead in a crescent to the floor.

"Remove yourself sirrah; the wench belongs to me!" Blathered a drunken soldier, too deep in his cups to consider the superior size of his adversary.

Grignr deftly leapt to his feet. His face lit red with ferocity, and his eyes locked on the swaying soldier with a burning gaze.

"To Hell with you, braggart!" Bellowed the angered Ecordian as he lifted his finely-honed broadsword.

The staggering soldier reached clumsily for the handle of his sheathed sword, but before his hands ever touched its oaken hilt a silver flash sliced through the heavy air. The muscles of Grignr’s swinging right arm bulged as his blade bit deeply into the soldiers neck. The foolhardy harrier’s severed head toppled to the floor with a sickening thud, and the body collapsed in a pool of swirling crimson. Following this tumult, the soldier's fellows confronted Grignr with their cutlasses drawn and directed toward the barbarian’s scowling countenance.

"The lout should have chosen his enemy more cautiously!" Bellowed Grignr in a deep mocking growl as he wiped the blood from his sword on the slain body before returning it to its sheath. 

"True, the fool should have exercised more prudence, but you shall rue your actions while rotting in the pits." Stated one of the soldiers.

Grignr's moved to draw his blade once more, but stopped at the sight of so many blades waving before his face.

"Remove your hand from the hilt, barbarbian, or you shall find a foot of steel sheathed in your gut." The soldier threatened.

Grignr was not typically one for prudence, especially when it called for him to abstain from a fight, but even he could see the soldier's command as the only logical choice. Attempting to hack his way out of the current predicament would only bring certain death. Unwilling to take such dangerous actions when other options were available, he yielded to the superior force, hoping to escape in a moment of carelessness later.

"You may steady your arms. I will go without a struggle." He relented.

"You’ve made a wise decision, but perhaps you would have been better off choosing death." The soldier's mouth spread into a sadistic, knowing grin, and he prodded his prisoner on with his sword point.

The soldiers marched Grignr for some time through the moonlit streets and alleyways to a massive palace, surrounded by lush gardens and iron fencing on all sides. Passing through a gilded gateway, they led Grignr up a stone path bordered by vegetation to the palace doors, and after gaining entrance, they passed through long, winding corridors to a chamber richly decorated with blue silks.

Seated upon a golden throne inside was a short, stocky man flanked by a pair of naked concubines, and behind him sat an adviser. Pikemen with golden mail and scarlet plumed helmets were posted in every corner of the room. The man’s plush turquoise robes dangled loosely from his corpulent frame as he rose from his throne to address the group, and the soldiers surrounding Grignr threw themselves prostrate to the stone masonry in fearful deference.

“Explain the reason for this intrusion upon my palace!” The man spoke.

"Your Majesty, we have brought this barbarian before you” A soldier said, gesturing towards Grignr. “To be judged in your all-knowing wisdom regarding his fate for slaying a member of the guard."

"Down on your knees, lout, and pay proper homage to your sovereign!" The pudgy noble commanded Grignr.

"By the surly beard of Mrifk, Grignr kneels to no man!" Growled the massive barbarian.

"You dare to act so disrespectful to me! You are indeed brave stranger, yet your valor smacks of foolishness." The noble spoke.

"I find you to be the only fool, sitting upon your pompous throne, enhancing the rolling flabs of your belly in the midst of your elaborate luxury and-" Grignr got no further before the soldier standing at his side struck him hard in the face with the flat of his sword, cutting short the harsh words and knocking his battered helmet to the floor with an echoing clang.

The noble's pale round face turned bright red, and his lips quivered with rage as he emitted a string of incensed muttering. His sagging rolls jiggled about, then compressed as he sucked in his gut in an attempt to conceal his softness. After recomposing himself, he spoke to the soldiers around Grignr with an ugly look of sadistic glee.

"Take this uncouth lout to the vault of misery, and be sure that his agonies are long and drawn out before death can release him." He ordered.

"As you wish sire, your command shall be heeded immediately." Said the soldier to the right of Grignr.

Rising slowly from his seat, the adviser approached the noble and motioned for the concubines to remove themselves. Then he leaned in and whispered to his lord.

"Eminence, the punishment you have decreed will cause much misery to this scum, yet it will last only a short time, then release him to a land beyond the sufferings of the human body. Why not mellow him in one of the subterranean vaults for a few days, then send him to life labor in one of your mines? To one such as he, a life spent in the confinement of the pits will be an infinitely more appropriate and lasting torture."

The noble rubbed his chin as he thought for a moment on the adviser's words. He turned to the man, eyes aglow.

".As always Agafnd, you speak with great wisdom. Your words ring of great knowledge concerning the nature of one such as he." The noble said and turned toward the prisoner with a glimmer in his eyes and his mouth curling into an evil grin. "I have decided to void my previous decree. The prisoner shall be removed to one of the palace’s underground vaults. There he shall stay until I have decided that he has sufficiently simmered, whereupon he is to be allowed to spend the remainder of his days at labor in one of my mines."

Upon hearing this, Grignr realized that his fate would be far worse than death to one such as he. A lifetime of confinement would be more than his spirit could endure.

"I shall never understand the ways of your twisted civilization. I simply defend my honor and am condemned to life confinement by a pig who sits on his royal ass wooing whores and knows nothing of the affairs of the land he imagines to rule!" Shouted Grignr.

"Enough of this! Away with the lout before I lose my control!" The noble commanded.

In a desperate bid for freedom, Grignr cast all caution to the wind and charged the soldier to his left. Seizing the man’s sword, he bounded to the dais where the noble stood before the guards could react. Agafnd threw himself between his lord and the charging barbarian, and Grignr thrust the sword between the adviser’s ribs before he could draw a weapon of his own. Grignr removed the blade, letting Agafnd fall to his knees, and approached the terrified noble. The red-haired giant towered over the rotund man who could only stand there quaking in fear.

"Where is your wisdom and power now, your majesty?" Growled Grignr. 

Then he noticed the noble glancing at something over his shoulder. He spun ‘round and lifted his sword high for a powerful downward swing, but was stopped short when the shaft of a guard’s steel pike crashed into his no longer protected skull. Everything went black as he collapsed prone to the floor. The following silence was broken by the cackling of the noble.

"Before me sirrah, you bow before me now! Ha, Ha Ha, Ha-Haaaa…”


	3. The Stygian Pit

Grignr’s mind returned from the black pools of unconsciousness and the fog cleared, but the blackness remained. He was surrounded by total darkness, compounded by the absence of any sounds. His mind still reeled from the powerful blow to the head he had suffered, and memory of the recent events was slow to return to him.

He briefly entertained the idea that he had died and descended to a realm beyond the grave, but rejected it as his memories returned. This was not the underworld, but instead something infinitely worse. Death promised eternal peace, but he faced a continuing life of inactive misery and confined torture. He was doomed to never more see the light of the beloved sun, the golden orb which he now cherished above all else. He would never again gaze upon the snow-capped peaks of his home, experience the thrill of plundering unexplored new lands beyond the edge of the horizon, or caress the naked curves of a trim, young woman.

This diabolical pit was certainly a chasm of Hell buried in the depths beneath the palace interior. It was a featureless torture chamber made to drive the condemned mad through silent solitude in unending darkness.


	4. Beneath the Eye of Argon

Elsewhere in the catacombs beneath the palace, a circle of torches cast their wavering light over the smooth face of a morbid raised altar. Brown stains marked its surface, and a crude pail sat one side next to an ornate sacrificial mallet. Expertly carved grotesque statues lined the rim of the chamber, staring endlessly ahead, blind to the bloody rites enacted in their presence.

Surrounding the altar stood a congregation of shamans uttering eerie chants from a bygone age untold aeons before the memory of man. Ebony buckles in the likeness of misshapen skulls secured their outfits of red and purple silk, ornamented with jewelry of gold and silver. Within the ring of shamans, at the foot of the altar, was a slender, pale-skinned woman clad in nothing but a jeweled golden harness. Fearful shivers traveled the length of her shapely body as she attempted to conceal herself from piercing stares.

Resting before them was a colossal jade idol, a bloated and deformed representation of the shamans’ heathen deity. The shining green statue sat upon an ornately decorated golden throne atop an ivory pedestal. Its bulging, swollen arms and webbed batrachian hands rested at its sides, and serpentine coils entwined its head and long, pointed ears. A bulging triangular nose with flared nostrils sat above a pair of protruding lips, turned up in a sadistic grimace, and in the center of its hideous face was a single cyclopean eye. Set in this lone socket was a scintillating, many-faceted scarlet gem which seemed to possess a life of its own. It was a priceless treasure, its value far surpassing the wealth of entire empires. It was… the eye of Argon.


	5. Despite All His Rage...

All notion of time abandoned Grignr. Every method to estimate its passing was useless as he lay confined and inactive in that pit of eternal night. He could guess only that a few days had passed, but he may have been imprisoned for ten hours or ten years; it was all the same to him.

He sought ways to occupy himself by any means he could in that barren vault. He paced its length and breadth countless times and tested every stone in its walls, hoping in vain to discover a secret passage to escape. He knew the area of the room and how many stones its walls contained, but all this knowledge of his surroundings was for nothing as he failed to devise a plan to escape them. He conceived many daring schemes, but discarded each one in turn for offering no chance of success. It was all in vain, serving no purpose but to distract his wandering mind from thoughts of his grim future. 

The stinking, mouldy lumps of mush that comprised his meals were delivered to him in wooden bowls through an iron hatch in the ceiling of the dismal enclosure. He could only imagine that these were the scraps spurned even by the palace’s hounds, yet he was forced to consume it all nonetheless to fend off starvation, deprived of other alternatives. He attempted to focus on his plots and schemes to ward his mind from the foul taste of his rations, but it did little good.

He was roused from his contemplation by a faint noise coming from the opposite end of his cell. It sounded like the scratching of claws, scraping away at the hard-packed ground. He slowly groped his way towards its point origin, and just as he drew near, there erupted a loud, penetrating squeal that rang out through the chamber’s stone walls. Grignr threw his hands up to shield his face and lurched backwards. A gargantuan rat bounded towards him. It buried its claw in his chest and bit at his throat, its hot, sour breath filling his nostrils as he fought to hold it at bay. Its sharp claws ripped strips of skin from his chest as he pried it off of himself with both hands. Gripping the beast’s neck with one, he placed the other over its gnashing snout and grimaced with agony as its teeth sunk into the flesh of his palm and drew blood. Cursing in pain, he flexed his bulging arms and wrenched the creature’s head around, snapping its neck with a loud crack.

He tossed the broken body to the floor. Wiping the blood from himself, he resumed his previous plotting. He told himself that so long as he still drew breath, hope was not lost. He would not surrender to fate without a fight. His battle with the feral attacker was proof enough of that. Then an idea struck him. He had a plan which he believed would be successful, one way or another. He wouldn’t go without struggle, and though he may perish in the attempt, death would still be an escape from the noble’s intended torments.

In time the guards would come to escort him to the dreaded mines, and then he would enact his plan. In preparation, he made his way back over to the rat’s carcass and began rending it in grim silence. The scourge spawned by the very depths to which he had been sentenced would provide his key to freedom.


	6. Stuggle & Sacrifice

“Lie upon the altar and be done with it, wench!” Commanded the shamans’ leader with a perverse grin, exposing his blackened, decaying teeth.

The woman fell to her knees and salty streams of tears ran down her reddened cheeks. With slow, deliberate steps and unwavering gaze, the shaman approached and motioned for her to arise, but she only sunk lower to the floor and cried harder. Her dark shadow cast by flickering torchlight stood in harsh contrast to the stark white marble of the altar before her.

“Have it as you will, woman.” He said as he bent over and forcefully lift her to her feet with harsh jerk. 

Then he planted a lecherous kiss upon her wet cheek, and the vile stench of his foul breath sickened her, causing her vomit on his hallowed purple robes. Shaking with rage and malice, he grabbed her graceful neck tightly and began to violently thrash her about. Her watery blue eyes bulged from their sockets as she struggled to draw a breath. Panicking for her life, she swung her foot with all her might into her attacker’s groin. Immediately he released her, doubled over at the waist, and stumbled about briefly before collapsing to the floor, groaning in pain and clutching his injured manhood.

His fellow shamans ceased their indistinct chanting and stared in shock at the scene before then. Never before in the annals of history had a chosen one dared to demonstrate such blasphemy in their presence. Their shock quickly turned to rage and they descended upon her in a blur of purple, red, orange, and gold and grappled her supple form, their clammy hands grasping and tugging her slender limbs in all directions. She attempted to hide her face and squeezed eyes shut, hoping to awake from some horrid nightmare, but face granted her no such mercy. She escaped the wretched molestation the only way she could; her mind hid beneath a shroud of unconsciousness.


	7. Subterranean Adventures

“Take hold of this rope and climb out of your pit, lout.” A soldier ordered Grignr as he lowered a length of rope down into the barbarian’s cell. “You’re being moved to a far deeper Hellhole.”

Grignr hid a small item within the folds of his loincloth, then braced his feet against the wall and began the ascent hand over hand from his dark prison to the light above. His green eyes began to water from the brightness of a flickering torch held by a second soldier. Grignr had become accustomed to inactivity in the black gloom, but now his body ached for action.

“Place your hands behind your back so we may bind them.” The torch bearer told Grignr once he had at last emerged from his cell. In his other hand he wielded an impressive battle axe, to which gave a meaningful glance, then addressed his companion. “Make sure that knot is good and stout, Broig.”

Grignr braced himself and scrutinized the man. His sinister hawk-like features were only exaggerated by the flickering light and shadows cast by his resin torch. Broig grasped Grignr’s left wrist, but when he reached for the right the barbarian spun around and reached for his concealed object. Broig went for the bejewelled dagger sheathed at his waist, but Grignr was faster. The barbarian stabbed his guard in the throat with his concealed object: a sharpened rodent bone. The second soldier quickly swung his large axe at the prisoner, but only succeeding in striking his wounded comrade as Grignr deftly ducked below the sweeping blade by a hair’s breadth. Before he could free his axe from his fellow’s chest, the second soldier found Grignr’s massive hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing the life from him. With a grunt of exertion, Grignr forced the man down to one knee. The soldier lashed out, punching Grignr in the face, but the larger man only cursed under his breath and leaned in with all his weight, knocking the soldier over backwards. With one final convulsive shudder, the guard ceased his struggling. His eyes stared blindly ahead from a deep ruddy face.

Rising to his feet, Grignr wiped the blood from his eyes to observe his gruesome handiwork. His next task for escape would be acquiring a disguise to move about the palace, and so he set to work taking the guard’s uniform for his own. The nature of the attire befit the status of palace guards and included a rich purple cloak, silver-accented hauberk, and a helmet adorned with precious metals. All this he took, along with the soldier’s torch and mighty axe.

With the great stealth developed in his childhood, Grignr navigated the labyrinth of corridors and twisting stairwells, but ignorant of the subterranean layout he could only wander aimlessly in search of an exit. His wild spirit yearned for unrestricted freedom. Reaching a fork in the path, he halted, and he heard faint footfalls approaching from the left passageway. Although true that the noble employed mercenaries from far off lands such as Ecordia, their uniform was far more utilitarian than the one which Grignr now wore, and he could not change his barbarous accent as easily as his clothing. If asked for the purpose of his presence, it would surely give him away. Knowing this, he slipped silently into the right corridor. 

He crept through the long grey monotony of stark stone walls with the feline grace of a stalking panther prowling on padded paws before finally coming upon a spiral stair at the end of the hall. Descending, he entered a short hallway leading to a tall wooden door. Placing one ear against the barrier, he detected no sounds issuing from the other side. He pulled on its metal handle, but despite his great strength it would not budge. He next wedged the head of his stolen axe between the door and its frame, and bracing one foot upon the wall beside, he applied all his might the end of this makeshift lever. The oaken handled bent to its utmost limits. The hallway filled with the sounds of creaking wood and Grignr’s strained grunting, and a deafening snap followed. The door swung open. Its rusted iron latched had snapped in two.

Grignr entered the room beyond and glanced about its dusty interior. By the dim light of his torch, it seemed to be nothing more than a forgotten storeroom. Miscellaneous items required for routine upkeep of the palace were strewn about in disorganized piles. Grignr approached to investigate them for anything of value, but he heard a muffled click. A sudden blur sharpened steel burst up from the floor swinging straight for him. Lunging aside with the speed of a striking cobra, Grignr barely managed to escape the deadly trap as his axe and torch dropped to the floor, sending off a shower of sparks and flame.

“Mrifk!” He exclaimed, returning warily to his feet and examining the ancient booby-trap he had unwittingly sprung. The mechanism resembled a small catapult, its wooden arm bearing razor-sharp blades. It was released when he stepped on a hidden floor plate and would surely have abruptly ended his life right there if not for his keen ears and lightning reflexes. Where it had lain in wait there was now a hole, through which Grignr held his torch searching for any other undetected traps. He saw another chamber beneath the one he now occupied and climbed down inside it, resetting the trap behind him. Not only would this remove evidence of his presence, it might also dispatch any enemies who might be pursuing him.

Looking around, he discovered he had entered the palace’s mausoleum. A dank, musty quality pervaded the air, which had grown thick and stale through decades of neglect. The reek of rotten flesh also mingled with the stagnant atmosphere, seeping through tiny cracks in the sides of the rectangular stone sarcophagi spaced throughout the room. Each one was topped with an effigy plated with ancient gold and silver, and although the occupants were embalmed, their stench was no less repellent.

Suddenly there came a muffled screech, but from what he could not say. He knew only that it woke primal terror deep within his soul as a cold chill ran up the length of his spine and his hair stood on end. Nothing natural frightened a giant warrior such as him, for he was built to conquer any tangible foe, but the idea of the supernatural was something else. It was a subject discussed only quietly around the dim embers of dying campfires, meant for ghost stories to be traded with bellies full of wine.

Still, this scream possessed a strangely human quality, one which he imagined would not come from a demon or malevolent spirit. Cautiously he approached the coffin from whence it seemed to issue. With teeth clench in an effort to steel his nerves, he pushed the lid aside with the harsh growl of grinding stone.

Immediately another screech burst forth, this time not muffled by any stone barrier. It was like the long, mourning cry of a tormented banshee, causing Grignr to fall back as it pierced the inner fibers of his superstitious psyche and filled him with both awe and dread.

Tentatively, he peered over the lip of the stone casket and gazed upon its contents. The same putrid aroma which filled the rest of the chamber spilled forth filling and scorching his nostrils, and held inside was a decomposing body. The decaying form of desiccated flesh stretched over a skeletal frame lay motionless but remained in a position of unblinking vigilance with its hollow sockets. Grignr had both seen and caused much death in his lifetime, and yet the sight before him seemed so ancient and unnatural that he could not help but remain filled with fear. 

He was only rooted from his petrified state when the same scream came yet a third time. This time it was now clear though that it did not originate with the casket’s occupant, but from some hidden depth below. Grignr lifted the corpse from its resting place and discarded it to the side, whereupon he discovered a trapdoor in the floor of the casket! He raised it and peered down into a large chamber. Below him a sobbing young woman lay stretched upon a marble altar, surrounded by a ring of shamans. Their leader stood over her, clutching a mallet and chanting in indistinct tones with a bloodthirsty grin upon his face. 

At the sight of an attractive young damsel in distress, natural urges overwhelmed Grignr. He dove through the opening into the room below, letting out his piercing battle cry and landing in the midst of the astonished cult. One of its members instantly fell to the ground in a violent fit as Grignr wasted no time launching his assault, wielding his axe in one hand and torch in the other. Their leader caught a vicious blow to the stomach and was thrown sprawled upon his own altar as his entrails began to spill out. Others staggered about with split skulls and maimed limbs as Grignr transformed into a whirlwind of death and destruction. Some cried out for Argon’s protection, while others begged for Agaphim’s forgiveness, but it was all equally meaningless to Grignr. Their dying howls echoed throughout the stone chamber walls like a chorus of the damned as the floor ran red with blood. Ere long, no more remained to fuel Grignr’s savage bloodlust, and the room fell deathly silent.

With all possible threats extinguished, Grignr now examined his surroundings more carefully. Before him sat the massive jade idol of Argon. It was a construction of substantial value, but Grignr’s gaze was solely fixed upon the brilliant gem that formed its lone eye. Its countless masterfully cut facets seemed to emit rays of hypnotising beauty which blinded him to all else. Although valuable, the statue could not be lifted even with Grignr’s giant strength, much less smuggled from the palace, but its eye would present no such burden.

“Help me, please. I can make it well worth your while.” A soft feminine voice beckoned as Grignr plucked the scarlet gem from its socket.

He turned to see the woman who had first drawn him to this place, but whom he had totally forgotten in the heat of battle.

“You!” He exclaimed in a pleased tone. “I thought I had seen the last of you at the tavern, but clearly I was mistaken.” He approached her and broke the chains which bound her to the sacrificial altar. As he lifted her, she wound her soft, smooth arms dexterously around his harsh exterior, and he planted a kiss upon her lips.

“And are you pleased that we have chanced to meet once more?” She asked. 

“I still don’t know who you are.” He replied.

"I am Carthena, daughter of Minkardos, Duke of Barwego, whose lands border along the northwestern fringes of Gorzom.” She answered.

“If that’s true, what are you doing here?” He followed up.

“I was once a slave of Prince Agaphim, paid as a gift to him upon his thirty-eighth year.” She said.

“And I am called a barbarian!” Grignr replied in a disgruntled tone.

“True, the ways of our civilization are in many ways warped, but nonetheless they are ours.” Carthena said. “Agaphim’s dreadful touch made me sick to my stomach, but eventually I managed to earn my freedom. I gained the pig’s liking, and he allowed me to roam the palace at will. From there it was a simple matter to seduce the sentry at the western gate, and his lust found him with a dagger thrust between his ribs.” She explained. 

“You can find the way out of this palace’s accursed passages?” Grignr asked. She nodded. “Mrifk! Every one of them looks the same to me, but let us now leave this wretched place!” He said, helping her to her feet. 

“I am grateful for your rescue, but I must first ask who you may be.” She said.

“I am Grignr of Ecordia.” He told her.

"Ah, I have heard vaguely of Ecordia. It is the hill country to the far east of the Noregolian Empire.” She said. “I have also heard Agaphim curse your land more than once when his troops were routed in its unfamiliar mountains and gorges." 

"Indeed, my people remain fierce and unconquerable in our homeland." Grignr nodded as he helped her climb back up into the mausoleum. “If what you say about being Agaphim’s former slave is true, what were you doing at the tavern where I found you?”

“I was trying to lay low while the palace guards searched for me. That tavern was seldom visited by palace guards, and my identity was unknown to the common soldiers. It was only the fray that you caused which attracted the palace guards. I was dragged back to the palace shortly after you.” She said as they made their way through the mausoleum. Then the pair stopped in their tracks. 

Where a door should have been, there stood only a tall stone panel featuring an elaborate bas-relief. Grignr could only guess at its nature. Despite his great strength, all efforts to budge the obstruction were for naught. Motioning him to move aside, Carthena pressed a small symbol hidden within its twisting design, and the panel slid aside into a gap in the wall. On the other side was a hidden stairwell leading back up to the forgotten storeroom. 

“Pray tell, how did you, Agaphim’s slave, fall victim to that crazed cult?” Grignr asked as the two navigated the dusty heaps. 

“Agaphim ordered me thrown into a cell to await sentencing, but somehow the cult of Argon acquired a key. After I’d been in the cell for a few days, one of the shamans killed the guard, abducted me, and I was brought to the chamber where you found me.” She said. “Their demented cult demands a sacrifice every third moon.”

“I’d not be surprised if they believed you to be working for Agaphim. You certainly look the part.” She continued and gestured to Grignr’s stolen disguise. He could only snort with contempt at the thought. “Many of their members were other nobles and high trustees. Agaphim’s sense of betrayal would have been unprecedented, and so too would his wrath. He would surely have subjected them to the most ghastly tortures if he ever discovered their rejection of Sargon, a perversion of their true idol of his own creation.”

“They have no more cause to fear Agaphim now.” Grignr said with a morbid smirk. “I have seen that they escaped his vengeance.”

Distracted by Carthena’s enchanting movements and engaging conversation, Grignr failed to notice the sound of footfalls rapidly approaching from behind them. As he opened the door leading back out of storeroom, a blood-chilling shriek rang throughout the room. Grignr spun to face this unknown foe. With eyes wide he raised his axe defensively above his head, but it was already too late.


	8. Divine Fury

With his head still spinning, the shaman which had before fallen into a fit upon Grignr’s arrival rose shakily to his feet. Due to his writhing episode, he had been ignored by Grignr, who had mistaken the fit for the shaman’s death throes. He almost fell to the floor once more as he looked around him and beheld the carnage the barbarian had left in his wake. The butchered bodies which surrounded him in deep pools of blood had once been his friends! Above him rose the idol of Argon, but its visage was now devoid of the jewel which had before been its sparkling eye. 

His shock gave way to burning hatred as the extent of the barbarian’s blasphemous assault set in. Before he could fully regain his composure following his fit, he was transformed into a maniacal, raving mad man. His lips curled and twitched as he muttered ceremonial curses through foaming saliva. Only thoughts of vengeance and divine retribution filled his mind. He drew the scimitar at his hip and climbed through the exit in the ceiling, seeking vengeance.


	9. Free at Last!

Grignr raised his axe high to parry the incoming attack from the shaman’s scimitar, but it was no use. A fatal blow had already been dealt, but not him. Carthena was unharmed as well, for the shaman had not dealt the lethal strike, but received it! The scimitar dropped harmlessly from his hand and clattered upon the floor next to the unnoticed pressure plate. One carelessly placed foot had sealed the shaman’s doom, as now a dozen razor-sharp cleats pierced him behind. He collapsed prone to the dusty floor.

“Mrifk! I thought I had killed the last of those dogs.” Grignr commented.

“Clearly you grew careless in your rage and bloodlust.” Carthena said. “But let us not tempt fate by dawdling any longer. The screams surely have drawn attention and the way out will soon be barred.”

“And what is the way out?” Grignr pressed.

“The corridor at the top of this staircase has a hidden door known to few others besides the royalty.” She told Grignr. “It is mostly used by Agaphim to leave the palace in secret. If he leaves in public view, he is often assaulted by thrown rocks and rotten fruit despite being under heavy guard.” 

“It is amazing the common people would ever let a pig like him rule them if they hate him so. I would think they’d rise up and overthrow him!” He said.

“Alas Grignr, it’s not that simple.” She replied as they ascended the stairs. “His soldier are well paid, and their forged weapons and armour far eclipse any crude implements of the peasantry. Any uprising would be marching to their own slaughter.”

“And I would sooner die by the sword than live beneath such a pig’s command!” He said as the pair headed down the hallway.

“Not all men are as strongly willed as yourself.” She said, casting an amorous eye over the stalwart figure whose arm was now wrapped around her waist. “Most would rather live as they are and avoid an early grave.”

At this point the pair reached a panel in the hallway. It was identical to the other stone slabs and differentiated only by a burnt out torch mounted upon it.

“When I turn the torch, push the slab inwards.” She instructed him. 

She pulled the disguised lever to one side, and Grignr pressed his shoulder against the panel, leaning the force of the weight against it. With a muffled scraping noise, the slab swung inwards, revealing a dark, musty tunnel beyond. Carthena led the way as Grignr set the door back into place.

The winding corridor was lit only by Grignr’s flickering torch. Spider webs hung from its ceiling, and a putrid slime oozed lazily along the floor. Hanging in an alcove of the wall was a decomposing corpse, suspended by its gaunt arms held in rusted manacles. Carthena leapt back into Grignr’s embrace at the sight of it.

“This place must also be used as a torture chamber.” Grignr pondered. “I wonder how many of Agaphim’s enemies have disappeared here.”

“I just want to be out of here before we too are caught.” She said, attempting to hide a slight sob as she sagged in Grignr’s arms.

“Yes, we’d better keep moving, but why do you flinch so?” Grignr asked as he led her through the rough hewn tunnel. “You have seen much death today and hardly batted an eye.”

“That man hanging on the wall was Doyanta. He once made the mistake of showing affection for me in sight of Agaphim, but he never meant anything by it!” Carthena could no longer contain her emotions. She broke out in pained, choking sobs. “There was nothing between us, and yet Agaphim did that to him, the beast! May the demons of Hell’s deepest pits claw away at him!”

“I suspect you cared more for that man than you claim, but we can talk more later.” Grignr said.

The two continued, and soon a dim reddish glow began to light the passage’s grim stone walls. 

“We must be nearing the end.” Carthena said, having regained some of her previous composure. “Rays of sunlight are starting to-”

She didn’t finish this sentence as Grignr clasped a hand over her mouth and pulled her back behind a protruding rock. He smothered his torch, plunging their alcove into shadow.

“Be quiet. I can hear footsteps approaching.” He whispered to her.

“All that you hear are the horses corralled outside the tunnel. It just means we’re getting close to the exit.” she said.

“That’s not all I hear.” Grignr spoke in a low growl. “The guards may be searching for us now, but I doubt they’d think to look here. Stay silent so we can see who’s coming and surprise them.” 

Carthena said nothing more and glanced down the corridor. Just then two figures came into view, both clothed in rich silk robes. They carried on their conversation ignorant of their crouching foes.

“That barbarian dog is cringing under the lash at this very moment your Majesty.” One of the men said. “He will cause no more trouble for you.”

“And so it is with all who dare to cross Sargon’s chosen one.” The other replied.

“About that, the peasants show growing unrest. They complain that they cannot feed their families while burdened by your taxes.”

“Oh they do? I shall teach them the meaning of humility. Raise their taxes immediately and show them what true oppression is! Let none question my sovereign authority, lest I-”

At the moment a shadowy hulking form leapt from around the bend and brought down its battle axe with lightning speed. One of the men crumpled lifeless to the ground, skull split to the teeth. Grignr gasped as saw the bisected face now by the light of the man’s dropped torch. It was Agafnd! 

Grignr thought he had killed the man in his attack within Agaphim’s chamber, but clearly his blow was not a fatal one. The same could not be said now. As Grignr stood staring in shocked thought, the other robed man drew a jewelled dagger concealed within his robe and lunged for the barbarian’s back. Grignr spun around reflexively swinging his axe, and his attacker fell into a stagnant pool of green slime, screaming in horror and clutching his wrist where his other hand had once been. The Ecordian raised his axe as high as he could in the low tunnel to deal the finishing blow, but was halted by a hysterical cry behind him. 

Carthena now charged towards the writhing figure, clutching Agafnd’s dropped torch, and plunged its incandescent head into his agonized face. His screams grew and grew in their intensity before finally dying down again as he was reduced to a disfigured pile of charred flesh. The reeking smoke of burnt skin and scorched hair filled the tunnel. Grignr stepped up to her side as she stared in shock at her own gruesome handiwork. 

“I, I had to do it… it was Agaphim… it was… I had to…” She repeated over and over, more for her own benefit than Grignr’s.

“Sargon should have chosen his ‘chosen one’ more prudently.” He remarked. “But to Hell with them all. We must not hang around here.” 

With that Grignr grasped Carthena around the waist once more and carried her the short distance to the end of the tunnel and out into the open. 

A burning red disc was just climbing above the eastern horizon, dispelling the slinking shadows of the night. Corralled nearby were Agaphim and Agafnd’s horses. Grignr reached into his leather pouch and removed the beautiful red gem he had taken from the bloated idol. 

“We’ll do well with this bauble, eh?” He exclaimed, holding it aloft beneath the rays of morning sun.

“Oh Kalla, the eye of Argon!” Carthena gasped in terror. 

Suddenly the gem gave off a blinding glow, then transformed into a slimy red ooze and dripped through Grignr’s fingers. He stepped back, pushing Carthena behind him. The droplets of slime converged and slowly reformed into a gelatinous mass. A single orifice appeared in it, opening up into a leech-like toothy maw. 

The hideous aberration slithered towards Grignr, leaving a trail of slime in the sand behind it. Its mouth spread wide, creating a ghastly sucking sound, and Grignr stepped into a battle stance, preparing himself for combat with a thing he knew not how to fight. Carthena hid behind his large form, urging him to slay it as she trembled in fear.

Just when the thing was almost upon him, Grignr buried his axe deep in its grisly maw, but the blade passed harmlessly through the blob and sunk into the ground. He drew his weapon back for a second strike, but the thing seemed completely unaffected by the powerful swing. 

Now it began to crawl up his leg, engulfing the limb in its slimy body and causing the hairs of Grignr’s neck to stand on end from the alien sensation. The sucking sound grew louder and the blob grew larger, and Grignr felt the blood being drawn from his body. He kicked his leg about in a mad panic attempting to shake loose the thing, but it held fast and continued to feed. He grabbed ahold of it with both hands and attempted to pull it off, but found his hands stuck in its form too now, affixed by a sticky, glue-like mucus. 

The blob had grown to the size of Grignr’s leg from its vampiric feast, and he began to reel and stagger. His normally tanned complexion had grown nearly chalk white and his bulging muscles were ready to give out. Carthena let out a final scream before slipping away and fainting upon the sand in terror. In one last desperate attack, Grignr seized her dropped torch and stabbed it into the monstrosity’s soft, slimy body.

A shudder passed through its form. Although he felt blackness descending upon him, Grignr tenaciously held onto consciousness with his last ounce of strength. He could feel the thing’s grasp on him loosen, and a nauseating gurgle rolled from its mouth. It began to bubble like boiling tar, and shivers shook its form.


	10. The Lost Ending

With a wet plop the thing fell to the ground, where it began to evaporate into a thick crimson mist until it returned to its original size. Its puckered mouth transformed into the likeness of a bulging red eyeball. The pupil seemed to contain the tale of all of creation, but how or why an amorphous mass slithered from the stygian pools of time only to degenerate into lascivious avarice none can say. In that transient moment of understanding, the meaning of life was revealed before Grignr’s entranced gaze. With one final plea of mercy, the thing resumed shuddering with violent convulsions, then shattered into thousands of tiny fragments which evaporated in curling scarlet wisps. The thing was gone forever, leaving behind only a dark red blotch upon the face of the earth.

Shaking his head to regain his senses, Grignr rose to his feet, then helped Carthena return to hers. The weary, scarred duo mounted the nearby horses and rode off slowly northward, leaving the nobles, soldiers, and peasants behind them and becoming two tiny pinpricks against the blue horizon.


End file.
